


Larger than life

by craicslave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craicslave/pseuds/craicslave





	Larger than life

The white sheets cladded against me as my sweat seeped into their fibres, the colour of beige rising in the white material against the soaking patch of my skin. Maybe I could ask the girl, the one that had forced me to take her home and show her the Harry Styles people wanted, if she could possibly bring me a glass of water. Or better yet, find condolence in her cold brown eyes that was intent on using me for the same animalistic need I wanted her for as well. I turned in the bed to reach out to the body that I had collapsed beside, my arm fell heavily to the mattress – there was no one there.

The realisation of my loneliness and the lingering nightmare of me falling into a black hole made the line between consciousness and unconsciousness almost non-existent. Everything around me kept coming closer, the walls were caving in on me like the pulsating walls of the black hole, so I closed my eyes to make the illusion go away. My ears rang with the buzzing noise from the proximity and pressure of the massive source of the pull force. It continued ringing for a long time after the deception had faded away – like the clamour the ear stores after an explosion.

When the attack was over I sat up in my bed and tore the soaked T-shirt from my chest and tossed it to the corner of the bed. Before, I used to sleep naked, revel in my dreams, but that’s before I met Louis and didn’t want my sweaty tantrums during the night to inconvenience someone else, before I got used to someone wrapping their arms tightly around me throughout the night. Now I sleep with a shirt on, just to replicate his touch though it will never be the same.

The bathroom mirror greeted me on a not so gentle note and I turned the hot water tap to tap on until it fogged up, until my face disappeared into nothingness, until my face became a blurry image. My body was covered in tattoos. Random scribblings. A picture can say a thousand words but a tattoo can speaks none or a million. Most of mine had no meaning, very much like the point of my existence. And some spoke a million even though I suspected they only made sense to me. I regretted a few but loved them for the hatred they evoked in me, that’s how I knew I wasn’t crazy, that I was able to feel emotions beyond heartbreak.

My hand clasped around the phone that was tucked in my pyjama pants and I scrolled through my contacts for his number. In a matter of second I would hear his voice and everything would be all right, I figured – the tone rang out. Next I tried Niall, Liam, Zayn, Gemma, Grimmy, Simon, anyone, even my mother but no one would answer. After all it was close to five in the morning and if they hadn’t just fallen asleep they were probably deep into their sleep. My face fell when I realised those phone calls were going to end up on their screen and they were going to see them in the morning. I had never felt so alone in my entire life, and lately I had been saying that a lot.

*

I didn’t believe in much but I was sure there had been a higher power involved in me and Louis’ relationship.When we became closer friends we had discovered that we had been in the same places on different occasions, mere metres away, a pub brawl, or a few rows separating us. It felt like the stars had come together and aligned each time, setting us up a few times to see how our dynamic would be, and finally decided that X-Factor would be the day. Louis wasn’t shy and neither was I, so we stood next to each other by the urinals, glancing at each other and completely breaking the common codes of manner when it came to peeing in front of other males. When he caught me looking he flashed me a smile and I averted my eyes to my own business and zipped up. He threw his hair to the side and followed me out the door.

  
That was the Louis I fell in love with; the Louis that wore cardigans and disliked my fascination for tattoos. He said that instead of standing up for themselves, tattooed people relied on their inked bodies to dispel rumours and tell people stories we don’t dare speak ourselves. Guess that is why I kept tattooing the scribbles I wanted to give to him on my own skin, guess that is why his skin seems more cladded than mine as of late. Eyes raw with tears, the brim illuminating in the dark of the judge’s house common area, he told me his opinion on tattoos. That’s when I realised that he didn’t barricaded himself behind a wall, he hid inside a ring of bloodthirsty wolves and their teeth were bared and drenched in the blood of the last person that had tried to pry themselves through. I wanted to kiss him even that early in our friendship, shove his hands away from his puffy cheeks, cut his fringe and expose his beautiful features, but I sunk further into the sofa letting his words root themselves deep inside me.

The first time we kissed was the morning after he had verbally abused me. I still had his voice from the night before on repeat in my head. There was something about him that made his opinion cut deeper than knife, he hurt me more than salt in an open wound, and that’s how I knew he was going to be in my life for a long time. After breakfast he tugged at me and gestured we should go into the bathroom where there wouldn’t be any cameras.

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” his lips quivered and he looked down on his feet. I wanted to tell him that he was right. I did hide behind meaningless lyrics on my Facebook wall and pen scribbles on my palm but words couldn’t encompass how all his words were true, how I was an utter failure. I wanted to change for him, grow up, and I wanted him to look at me. With the little courage I had been granted from birth I kissed him. There was something about seeing his lip quiver that charged me with the energy to kiss his lip back to sturdiness, get him back to himself.

There are many things I regret in life, my baggy pants, being rude to my mother, and giving empty promises, but what I regret the most is that I didn’t kiss him longer. If only I would have gotten to spend a second of my life more with him maybe I wouldn’t be as sad as I was now. I was half-expecting him to shove me away or punch me in the face but his arms went around my waist and our kiss grew deeper. I should have held on to him tighter but instead I signalled that we had to go, how would I know he would dispel the rumours about us and the idea of us as if was ridiculous. The rest of the gang, the cameras, the world, everything could have waited – I should have kissed him for a bit longer.

*

  
Louis was calling and I answered. It sounded like he was half asleep and I felt embarrassed that he had to wake up to my missed call. He always worried about me even though we had broken up long ago, even though we had never been a real thing and he had to sit me down and tell me he wanted me to hook him up with a female friend of mine I had invited to a party. He knew he was still my best friend – my only true friend. He distanced himself from me because he knew I still hadn’t accepted that we were over. I still put my arm around him, brushed the back of my hand against his, did all those things you’re not supposed to do with your ex – the person you want so bad but doesn’t want you back.

“Harry, are you all right?” He coughed to clear his throat from sleep.

“Yeah, don’t worry I dialled the wrong number,” I bit at my lip as I lied to him. I didn’t want him thinking I was dependent on him even though in actuality I completely was. There was a woman groaning in the background and I clenched my jaw. “Harry,” he started but I hung up not wanting to hear more of the sound of someone else moving around in his arms.

We were never together and therefore never had a real break up, instead we drifted apart. I think that’s why I was hung up on him for years after he didn’t want me anymore. Instead of recognising what we had and owning up to the fact that it scared him he ignored me, let me think that what we had was made up in my head.

*

  
I remember Oslo very vividly, even though I had tried to make sure not to, gulping down shots after each other until the point of not being able to walk in a straight line. Zayn and Niall kept inside the tour bus while Liam rented a small boat for him and his friends. I woke Louis up to go have breakfast somewhere but he brushed me off. I wasn’t offended since I knew he wasn’t the nicest person in the morning but his sour mood lingered through most of the morning but blew up in my face right before lunch. He started yelling at me for being a careless brat, for being a man-whore, and that everything people accused me off was true. Just like when we first met his words stung and twisted in my chest like a salt-dipped knife.

Louis knew exactly how much he could hurt me and yet he kept spitting and spewing venomous accusations at me. All I could do was observe him, take in every word, store it in the back of my mind and try to improve to his standards. While he kept going at me, breaking plates, and breaking things to catch my attention, opera music started playing in the back of my mind and his movements were slowed down and the scene before me looked like it had been cut out from an experimental drama film. He yelled at me to listen to him and not run away into that place in my mind where everything was perfect because it wasn’t, I wasn’t perfect. A tear trickled down my cheek and I was confused if it was due to the beautiful drama that was unfolding in front of me or because that’s when I realised he loved me.

Zayn had to come in and calm him down while Niall cleaned up the aftermath of our lovers tiff. The pain in his eyes tore me, but the strings that kept me together were made up of the knowledge that I wasn’t the only one wanting this, us. I was so tired of these feelings I finally grabbed my sunglasses, wallet, and phone and took off. With no lunch in my system I threw down a glass of a restaurants purest alcohol. It took off from there and suddenly I was on a party bus for Norwegian high school graduates. The young graduates tugged at me and ground against me and all I could do was accept the attention, let them ephemerally occupy the emptiness that had been chiseled in my chest.

When I returned Louis tugged at my shirt again, signalling he wanted to talk to me in a closed off place like he always did. Maybe it was the alcohol that flooded through my veins or my mindset of putting this relationship on black and white. I could not keep going as his little secret, I wasn’t some sort of mistress.

“You know what,” I pointed at him and fell on the couch a little bit tipsy. “You’re gay.”

“Shut up, Harry,” his nostrils flared and his previously gentle eyes turned cold and protective.

“Does it make you feel like a man?” My voice rumbled and I saw myself towering above him. “Denying your feelings, keeping it all bottled up. Yeah, real manly…” My fingers were pressed to my chest but I wanted to pin him to the wall and shake him. “You’re gay. You’re likes-it-up-the-arse-down-the-throat-gay! And you love me!” I could see myself in his eyes, my lips quivering in anger. Somewhere amidst my shouts at him I had stood up and found myself staggering backwards; partially because I was afraid of what I might do to him and partially because I was surprised by how the roles had reversed. I used to be the helpless sheep that abided to his every whim.

*

  
There was someone knocking on the door and I yelled for them to hold up, while I got myself sorted in the shower and tied a towel around my waist. Before I even came near the door I knew who it was, I took short and slow strides to give myself more time to prepare. It was, as I had predicted, Louis in a pair of purple pyjama bottoms and a dark jeans jacket I hadn’t seen him use for years, he must have stayed over at Eleanor’s place. I didn’t invite him in but he knew my flat was always open for him.

“I could hear something was wrong, Harry,” he said with his chipper dialect. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry. Keep dragging me–” I sat down on the bed in the hotel room while he walked back and forth in front of me.

“Louis, I told you I’m fine. You’re the one that decided to come here, I’m perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not. Nothing is fine,” his cheeks turned a deep red. “Let’s do this! Whatever, fuck everything.” He grabbed my face and slapped one cheek lightly. “I fucking love you, I’m gay, there, you happy?” He turned around and raised his arms in the air. “I’ve been fucking girls and liking it but I’m gay! Right? That’s how it works?”  
What, at first, seemed to be a joyful revelation became something else and when he turned back around his eyes were black with rage. “I like boobs, I like them a lot, Styles. I go down on girls, and I like it. I like the throbbing pulse I can hear from a girls thigh against my ear.” He pulled at my arm to push me back on the bed. Suddenly he was straddling me and he cursed before he continued his rant.

“I like kissing them like this.” His plump lips crushed against mine and his tongue ran over them lightly before he pulled back. “I like to nibble on their collarbones to let them know I can make them feel pain and pleasure.” His teeth latched onto mine and I shut my eyes to not reveal how aroused it made me. “I like to kiss down the side of their chest to let them know I like them for more than their boobs.” He continued with pecking my side and I could feel his breath on my hipbone as he stopped. “I like to play with their hip bones to let them know where I am.” His tongue ran over the tattoo on my lower abdomen and I couldn’t keep myself constrained anymore. His fingers were crushing hard against the sides of my thighs and he ducked his head inside the towel and I felt his jagged breath on my thigh. His tongue rolled over the sensitive skin on my lower abdomen and he sucked gently. “I like girls,” I heard him whisper before he took me in his mouth. His head bobbed up and down under the towel and I was completely thrown by the turn of events.

I resisted from bucking up towards him, too scared I’d overwhelm him or scare him off, this is the exact sensation I had pined for. I dug my nails onto the white sheets under me to keep myself from moving. Louis moans vibrated through me and my eyes rolled back into my head. I cursed under my breath to hold on longer and I felt him laugh in response, later I would realise he had actually been crying. He pinned me down harder and moved more vigorously, his tongue rolling over and under everything. I came jagged and he gulped it down, massaging my hips to let me ride out my high. He ran his thumb under his eye to wipe away a tear and then sat on the bed next to me. I reached out but he shook his arm from my grip so I stayed silent hoping he would hear my thoughts.

*

The first time we had sex was on the couch in the judges house. It was well past midnight and everyones snores vibrated through the walls. Louis and I were the only ones that missed home a great deal, we had a hard time falling asleep in beds that weren’t ours, and with people we didn’t know very well. I was surprised by how well his body moved against mine, how lost in the moment he could be with me. It surprised me how rough he was, and I loved feeling helpless to him. That was the biggest attraction between us. He loved controlling people and I was comfortable in following orders. I should have seen that there would be and end to us, I couldn’t be his little lamb forever and he couldn’t be my shepherd.

*

  
The last night we had together we didn’t rush in case someone would walk in and he let me lead him, so he could pretend it I was forcing myself on him, and frankly I didn’t care how he interpreted this as. I climbed on top of him and forced him to look me in the eye throughout it all, forced his body to bend in ways his stiff bones had not before experienced. My rigid backbone hurt when I bent on top of him to grab his lips in mine and my tongue was too short to feel his, but my fingers clenched at the meaty part of his rear and I nipped at the little pouty tummy that I loved on him.

“I love your back,” was the only words uttered between us, I had let the words slip when I had flipped him over so he would feel me deeper inside him. Before I advanced in my actions I had let my fingers travel up and down his spine, just for a split second.

When he woke up the day after I hope he found the note I had placed on my side of the bed. I hope he would find the humour in it and laugh before he would realise what it meant. I wish the police would have come and cleaned everything up before he would wake up from the wind in the curtains and the banging of the windows against their frame. It was a still day so I’m not expecting him to wake up for another few hours. I was so content, happy, wonderfully satisfied and this is how I wanted him to remember me. This is how I wanted me to remember myself. That’s how I wanted people to remember me.


End file.
